


Alive

by eunhyo



Category: Pentagon (Korean Band), Triple H (Band)
Genre: 365 FRESH inspired, Angst, Other, Substance Abuse, attempted suicide, e'dawn centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-27 10:18:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10807110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eunhyo/pseuds/eunhyo
Summary: Life sucked. He threw his head back and laughed. Openly and freely. He was so messed up.





	Alive

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in love with E'Dawn's character in the MV, so I had to write something and take the ideas out of my mind.
> 
> This takes place right before the MV. It's like a background story for E'Dawn's character.
> 
> If you are easily triggered, pleased don't read this. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are well appreciated. 
> 
> And I might add that English is not my first language, so... sorry for any mistakes...

He felt light, even if just for a second, a mere second, he felt so light, like he could fly away from there, like he was in heaven.

He threw the razor away and kicked at something at his feet. It clattered on the floor, the sound almost mute and distant to his ears, but his eyes felt way too heavy for him to open them and see what he had kicked at. He let it be, whatever it was could wait for a bit. He would just rest for a few seconds and then he would pick it up.

***

He woke up to a pounding head and a white room. An all too white room to be his own. An hospital room with his father in it, looking at him from a few feet away, looking livid. 

He was taken home some hours after. Wrists bandaged. Pitiful looks from nurses and doctors. Furious looks from his father.

That night he went to bed with a busted lip and a swelling eye, a bruise forming on his cheek. But he felt alive, so alive. His blood running on his veins, fast and furious. For the first time in years, he had a good night sleep.

***

Hyojong was never normal. He knew he wasn’t, no one had to tell him. While the other boys liked to play football, he prefered watching them play football, perched on his favourite tree branch. It began when he was young and it didn’t change over time. What changed was how people started noticing it.

_Gay_. That was what the others called him at school. The word burned in his tongue and ears, not because he felt insulted, because he didn’t, but just because he _wasn’t_. He wasn’t gay, not completely at least. He liked girls. He liked how prettily his girl classmates grew. All pretty legs, thick thighs, how their tight uniform blouses showed the pretty form of their breasts, how the few open buttons at the top showed a bit of cleavage. 

It took Hyojong some time to realise the word for what he felt was _bissexual_. It didn’t take him time to realise the others didn’t accept it well. They showed that with every little kick, every nicely delivered punch, every glass of fresh water accidentally spilled over his head and books. 

It hurt, at first. School used to feel like _home_ , a place to escape to, a place where he didn’t have to deal with his drunk and abusive father, his drugged mother. After some time, it stopped hurting. And school just began feeling like nothing more than an extension of everything else.

***

He looked at the mirror, head tilted to the side, tongue hanging from his mouth, red lipstick in hand, crosses and strange lines drawn on the mirror. Once his head returned to its normal position over his shoulders he took a second to think about what that lipstick was doing there. It was probably just another thing his mother had left behind when she disappeared, even though he couldn’t remember a time he saw her using lipstick, always way too high to worry about makeup or looking pretty. He threw the lipstick away. 

The only good thing she left behind, he realised, were actually the drugs. When he took them his mind went blank, and it was so good. It was such a welcomed feeling, not thinking, not feeling, being in cloud nine. Heaven surely must feel like that. Now he could understand why his mother liked them so much. When he took them he didn’t have to remember how he came home to a mother gone into thin air, or a father rooting in prison for killing some bastard like himself in a bar fight. When he took them, being alone didn’t feel lonely. 

When he tried to kill himself the first time, he was discovered by one of his father’s so-called friends that got him into the hospital, and ended up with his father beating the shit out of him for it. 

Now, the house was empty, so heavenly empty, there was no one to come in and discover him lying on the floor bathed in his own blood on the verge of death, or hanging from a lamp. It was easier, but it was harder. No matter what Hyojong tried, he just couldn’t do it. He had the telephone cable around his neck once, but he wasn’t strong enough to strangle himself with it, it just provided some welcomed few seconds of world blurriness, of thinking it was finally it, he would finally find a place where he felt good. The bag around his head was only a good idea until his fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, and he realised he just wasn’t high enough for them to be dormant and for his hands to not tear at the bag when his lungs just sucked into themselves and not air.

Life sucked. He threw his head back and laughed. Openly and freely. He was so messed up.

He missed them. His parents. His mother lying on the couch, mostly passed out. His father yelling profanities and hitting him for being a good-for-nothing son, a gay son, a gay son that sometimes had naked girls lying across his bed. His school mates. Throwing kicks and punches and calling him names he sometimes didn’t even know what they meant. But his mother had disappeared with some of her druggie friends, his father was in jail and he had quit school, because what was he doing there? He wasn’t studying. He wasn’t aiming to be anything, he was actually aiming to become nothing. 

He let his body fall on the couch, bent over to the small table and made a small pipe with a piece of paper. He let the paper-made pipe drag along the white powder on the table surface before bending over so that his nose could touch the paper. Inhaled sharply and threw his head and body back. Mind blank and free.

*** 

When Hyojong got enough senses in him to move, he looked around. It didn’t even look like a house anymore, just a dump of useless things scattered around the floor and furniture. A knife lying on the floor by one of the table’s legs. He eyed it for some seconds, throat dry and hands itching, he blinked and got up, kicking at the things that were on his way to the door. He didn’t worry about locking up when he left, there was nothing there worth robbing.

He inhaled deeply in the night air, lining on a lamp post by a deserted street. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea. Maybe he should go back and take the knife, try again. His mind was still a little foggy, but he could make out lights at a distance, car lights. 

He waited a beat, two beats, three beats. Eyes closed. His body losing the contact with the lamp post when he leaned forward, towards the street. He let his body fall, waited for the impact that came seconds later. His body rolling on the floor, hurting and buzzing with adrenaline. Sadly he wasn’t dead yet. He tried to get up, hobbling a bit and then, there were footsteps, a hand by his collar and a fist connecting with his face, making him fall back again. He opened his eyes a little to see. A boy. Looking furious. Some scars on his face, but otherwise good looking. And there was another fist on his face. 

He laughed. 

He felt alive.


End file.
